


Asher's Assist

by olivemartini



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: AU where no one died and everyone's happy, Angst, Asher really is a good bro, F/M, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, basically they meet a jerk in the bar and Asher saves the day, colliver, very vague homophobic langauge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-10-02 08:42:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17261099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/olivemartini/pseuds/olivemartini
Summary: Connor is used to it.Oliver is used to it.But Asher?Not so much~or~The one where Oliver and Connor run into a homophobe at the bar, and in a surprise twist of events, Asher is the first one to jump to their defense.





	Asher's Assist

**Author's Note:**

> I know they've covered up like three murders by now, but the Keating 5 love each other so much and I love all of them, so here's a fic of Asher getting to be the knight in shining armor.
> 
> Also, I'm begging you, someone give me a real title

Connor is used to it.

Oliver is used to it.

But Asher?

Not so much.

It had happened rather quickly, quick enough that Connor hadn't seen it coming.  They had been having a good time, the Keating 5 (plus Oliver and Frank) ringing around a table at some new bar that Laurel had sworn to them was actually fun, trying to take advantage of the one night off that Annalise had given them, and then something had hit Connor hard from behind, sending him jerking forward into the table, catching the side of it with his hip and causing whoever had just run into them to lose his balance as well, spilling his drink so badly that it splattered down the front of Oliver's brand new shirt.  And Oliver was already telling the guy that it was alright, no harm done, even as he reached out to help Connor get his balance, because that's just the kind of  _nice guy_ that Oliver was, and Connor found himself agreeing just to preserve the feeling of the night, and then immediately regrets it when the guy's lip curls up in disgust, when he looks over his shoulder at the guy standing wearily behind him, and says something about how it doesn't matter, because it was only a pair of faggots.

Connor doesn't know what he said exactly, because he's focused too much on Oliver and the stinging pain in his hip when he slammed into the corner of the table, but he knows that it is nothing nice, because Oliver reels back like he just got slapped, surprised as he always is when someone does something unkind, and Michaela gives this little gasp, and Laurel who, of all things, starts cursing in rapid fire Spanish after shoving her purse into Frank's chest, even though none of it was audible over the music.  And Connor just stands there, because even though he was used to it ( _you couldn't be as openly gay as he was and not get used to it, as unfair as that might sound_ ), he hadn't expected it to happen here, in this city and in this bar and with all of his friends watching, and him unable to even rise enough anger out of the sudden swarm of shame to defend his boyfriend.

Asher doesn't seem to be having any such trouble.

"I'm sorry," He says, and he's got this  _look_ on his face, the one he gets when Annalise cuts him off during one of his jokes that no one is laughing at or when Michaela tells him to shut up for no good reason at all.  The look that makes it look like the floor is rocking beneath his feet and he can't quite figure out how the ground had suddenly grown so unsteady.  "But what did you just say?"

There's silence.  Everyone freezes, even Laurel, and even though Oliver reaches out to tug him back, Asher just steps forward, and Connor doesn't know how he had never quite noticed how intimidating that Asher can look when he wants to.  

"I think that you owe my friends an apology."  There's a small bit of gratitude that Connor feels at that, but mostly, he's still just embarrassed.  "Don't you?"

There never is any apology.  There is, however, Wes moving forward to stand behind Asher, just as calmly and amiably as he's done everything else since Connor had met him, looking like this was nothing more complicated than helping Asher carry groceries in from the car, and then Frank sidling up behind him, still holding Laurel's purse and seeming like he might have forgotten that it was in his hands, and then that friend backing away and the other guy just standing there, apparently not caring that it was suddenly three against one. Whatever he says next, Connor can't hear but he can read the situation well enough to know that it was definitely  _not_ an apology, and he doesn't think any of them are really that surprised when Asher throws the first punch.

"That's right!"  Asher yells, after all nine of them from both parties had been thrown out into the street and told not to come back.  Connor doesn't blame them- the other guy had thrown his own punch and Asher had stumbled back into the table, knocking everything over before Wes caught him by the shoulders, and then he had just gone back for more, until both of them had busted lips and bleeding noses.  "You better run, baby!"  He's got Oliver's ruined shirt bunched up in his hand, covered in blood, and Michaela is looking at him like she can't decide whether she wants to kiss him or yell at him.  "We got them good, didn't we?" And then he fist bumped Oliver, like this whole night had just been one big adventure.

Wes was the only one who didn't look rattled.  He had just ambled out after them, pressing some money in the waitress' hand as a tip before following them out the door, and was now standing squinting up at the streetlights with his hands burrowed in his pockets.  "So what now?"  They all stare and he lifts one shoulder up in a half shrug.  "We do still have the entire night."

The  _What Now_ apparently meant everyone piling into Oliver and Connor's apartment at Oliver's invitation, and Connor knows that they're all over there way too much, because everyone falls into their designated spots in the living room and Laurel and Michaela start to fight over the tv without having to ask which remote to use, and Frank was already digging out the ingredients for pancakes, which he apparently decided that he needed.  Everyone seemed to know exactly what to do, except for Asher, who despite the fact that he was normally the first to barge through anyone's house with or without invitation, was just standing by the door, Oliver's shirt still hanging somewhat limply from his hand.

He catches sight of Connor watching him and tries for a smile, but it ends up looking more like a grimace.  "You got something I can change into?"  He waves a hand down at himself, and this time, the smile looks a little less pained, more happy go lucky like Connor had grown used to.  "Don't want to get blood on your things."

Connor stares, and behind him, Oliver clears his throat.  "You'll need some band aids and stuff too, right?  Connor can get them."  He gives Connor a little shove.  "There's a medicine kit in the top of the closet."

Connor may not be good at protecting his boyfriend from homophobes, and he might not be good at saying thank you even when the person who did is standing in his kitchen covered in blood, but he is good at following orders, so he just offers a smile and leads Asher back to the bathroom, where they go through approximately four towels and three washcloths trying to get all the blood out.

"I can do it," Asher says, when he meets Connor's eyes in the mirror for the third time and seems to be done with the awkward silence.  "No offense, man, but if I wanted someone to play nurse, I would have called in Michaela."   And then, almost like an after thought, he adds, "No homo and all that."

Connor doesn't leave.  He could remember a time where he had written Asher off as someone who was riding on his father's coat tails. And he had thought, if he was being honest, that Asher was just pretending to be cool with the fact that Connor was gay, that he was secretly weirded out by it and that when he meets up with all his old buddies from his high school or his frat house or what ever cult he had crawled out of, he would tell them all about the gay guy that he worked with, some little anecdote to worm his way back into their good graces.  And he could certainly remembered bristling every time that Asher made one of his little comments about Connor being his  _bromo_ and how he thought that he and Oliver were good together.  The only thing he couldn't remember was when all the things about Asher that used to bother him suddenly lost their bite.

 _They're not my friends,_ he had said, when Oliver first started bugging Connor about being introduced to the rest of the Keating 5 and Oliver had only laughed.

 _You hang out with them all the time.  When you're not with me, you're with them._ Connor had just rolled his eyes, because Oliver was in IT, and as sweet as he was, he couldn't understand how cut throat this school was, how Annalise was pitting them against one another.   _They're your friends._

But it seems like he was right.  They're his friends, his best friends, and that included Asher.  Connor just hadn't noticed it until it happened.

"You didn't have to do that."  He wanted to say thank you, but he's terrible with that, so that's what comes out of his mouth instead.  "You  _shouldn't_ have done that."

"Con."  Asher has all kinds of nicknames for them, like going through the full syllables would cost him too much time.  "The guy was being a jerk."  Asher throws the bloody towel into the sink and turns to face him.  "I was just being a bro."

"I mean,"  Connor closed his eyes and then opened them again, startled to find how serious Asher looked now.  He still thinks he's a bit of an idiot, but he knows that beneath all of it, he's a good guy- a guy who walks away from his father's money and name and reputation when he learned his career was built on one moment of corruption, a man that didn't tell anyone about Michaela until she was ready no matter how much Connor teased him about being single, a man that would throw a punch for his friends without hesitation, even though, to be honest, he wasn't really that good of a fighter.  "I should have done it.  He's my boyfriend.  It's my job, to, to-," The feeling that he had felt back at the bar rises up again and Connor swallows it down.  "To take care of him."

Connor's not sure what he was expecting, but it wasn't for Asher to burst out laughing and then to stop when he sees Connor glaring at him.

"So you needed me to throw a punch, so what?"  Asher shrugged, like he really didn't understand.  "I'm sure you would have got there eventually, I was just faster."

"It's not-,"

"It's not the same?"  Asher raises an eyebrow at him, and even though Connor still would rank him as the least competent of the group, he's reminded suddenly that there was a reason that Annalise had picked him.  Professor Keating doesn't deal with fools, or incompetence.  "Like you wouldn't have done the same for Michaela?  Like you haven't?"  Connors knows he has, and the reminder makes him fidget uncomfortably, because he doesn't want this to be about some sort of bro code where they protect each other's significant others, but Asher isn't wrong.  Being with Annalise makes them targets every time they walk out of that courthouse, of the press or the protestors or angry family members, a whole crowd of people reaching out and sometimes intent on doing some relative harm, and Connor had always reached back for Michaela and Laurel somewhat unconsciously, his arm around them, his body in front of theirs, and he knew that he always found Michaela first.  But he wasn't doing that for Asher.  He was doing that because he was her friend.  Which might be Asher's point.  "Look, if it bothers you so much, we can go back out, track him down, and you can take a turn punching him-,"

"Shut up," Connor says, laughing.  "Just shut up."

There's a beat of silence where Asher tries to figure out how to button up the shirt that Connor had brought him and Connor worked to wipe up the mess that they had made, and then Asher started talking again.

"I didn't realize. That people did that."  Connor looks up and Asher squirms, shifting from one foot to the other.  "I mean, I know people are, are  _jerks,_ I mean, I've said things that," He winces and shakes his head like that could knock the past away, and Connor feels a little vicious stab that he was, at least, right about the fact that Connor used to be the type of person who didn't understand when they were being ignorant.  "Whatever.  I just, I knew, but I didn't  _know,_ okay?  And you shouldn't have to deal with it, so,"  He shrugs, a little helplessly, like he was hoping Connor would rescue him.

"I appreciate it.  I do.  I just," He didn't know how to explain to him, how hopeless it was, to want to protect someone and know that you would never be able to.  And he knows that this is not a feeling special to him and Oliver, or even to gay couples in general- but still.  "I just always thought I'd be able to handle it, so he didn't have to."

"I didn't do it for him," Asher says, and he's got that look on his face again, like what he's hearing doesn't quite compute.  "I mean, I did, obviously, but even if it had just been you, I still would have kicked the crap out of him."  Asher makes a kung fu motion with his hand, right at Connor's neck, possibly to lighten the mood but probably in earnest, and because Connor is an asshole, he wants to point out that Asher did not, in any sense of the words,  _kick the crap_ out of anybody.  "We're bros, remember?  Means we got to look out for each other."

He thumps his chest, once, reminding Connor fiercely of a gorilla, and he knows that there is some gesture that he is supposed to make in return, but settles for a weak smile instead.

"Come on."  Asher smiles, still just as happy as he was at the beginning of the night, and still just as thrilled as he had been through the entire thing, and Connor wonders, for the first time, if this was really the beginning of something for all of them- the first time that any of the Keating 5 had the kind of friendship that meant that you would be willing to throw a punch for anyone in the group, without bothering to think of the consequences.  "Can't leave the rest of them waiting on us for too long, yeah?"

Connor stares at him again, wanting to point out that there was still blood staining the side of his neck ( _and seriously, it was a broken nose, how did Asher manage to get it everywhere?_ ), and then follows him out to the others, figuring that someone else would point it out.

 

**Author's Note:**

> weak ending but oh well
> 
>  
> 
> come find me on Instagram @olive.writes.fanfic


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